


Small Seeds (Do Gracefully Grow)

by orphan_account



Category: Birds of Prey (And the Fantabulous Emancipation of One Harley Quinn) (2020)
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Injury, Pining, Vignette, awkward helena, jk all Helena is awkward Helena, she has no idea when she’s being flirted with, we all love watching Helena get injured and Dinah looking after her apprently
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-19
Updated: 2020-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:02:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23218186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Helena’s a surprisingly good teacher, and Dinah’s a quick learner.
Relationships: Helena Bertinelli/Dinah Lance
Comments: 18
Kudos: 351





	Small Seeds (Do Gracefully Grow)

**Author's Note:**

> So I love all the stories where Dinah teaches Helena about, y’know, normal human stuff. But I got to thinking what if it were the other way around? And this is what happened.
> 
> A few notes: firstly, I do not know anything about motorbikes, crossbows or the Sicilian language. I do know how to google, but it’s not always reliable. If you spot a mistake please let me know.
> 
> Secondly, I apologise for not updating my previous story. I hope to get around to it ASAP.
> 
> Thirdly, if your country is partly in lockdown rn do all your friends and family a favour and stay inside thanks.

I.

It takes her a while to replace the bike Harley totalled, mostly because after tweaking it to perfection, the thought of having to redo all those add-ons is not hugely appealing to Helena. Admittedly, it’s not like she’s short on time. It’s just that that time has been filled in other ways.

Helena is meticulous, meaning that _finding_ the right bike, in itself, takes forever, let alone making adjustments. She’s not used to having money to throw around. Rather than spend frivolously, she still only spends the money on essentials, meaning anything for the bike, she buys cheap and does herself.

It has the benefit of also meaning she can avoid having to speak to the men in the bike stores who for some reason all think they know more than she does, and always try to persuade her to buy things she doesn’t need. They also always insist on standing way too close, which makes her uncomfortable. Far easier to buy what she needs online, and install it herself.

It’s a sweltering hot day - a rarity in Gotham - and she’s spent most of it in the garage. With the rolling door open, it keeps the sun off her and a slight breeze drifting in whilst she works, and for a moment it feels like being back in Sicily.

Right up until footsteps on concrete steps alert her to someone else’s presence.

Helena looks up from the metal she’s polishing, and her first thought is that she would hate to mess up the finish by having to use it as a weapon on an intruder.

She’s not used to sharing a space with somebody else, but fortunately recognises the silhouette of her visitor before she makes to attack.

Dinah let’s out a low whistle as she takes in the image in front of her: Helena with her short hair pulled up into a messy ponytail, clothes smeared with grease and soot, brandishing some sort of metal pipe. The Canary’s face breaks into an easy grin.

“Easy, Killer. I just came to see if you wanted in on ice cream?”

Setting the bike part down, Helena rubs the back of her hand over her forehead. She’s sweaty and gross, and the sound of something cold and sweet definitely sounds appealing, but so does finishing her work.

“Montoya’s taking Cass to the store, and you know if we don’t intervene everything they gets going to be cavity-inducing, so if you want something that isn’t 90% sugar, get in quick,” Dinah says, her eyes wandering over all the parts laid out on the table, the dismantled bike upside down on the floor. There’s a look of genuine intrigue there, but she says nothing, just drags her eyes back to Helena’s.

“Sure. Can you grab me something? I don’t care what.”

“Oh yeah? You trust me to get something you like?”

Her tone is playful, that teasing voice Dinah only seems to ever use for her, and she doesn’t know what to make of it, so just nods, “yeah, sure,” she murmurs, returning to work.

“You know you’ve been in here for, like, eight hours right? It might be time to take a break.”

Picking up a tool, Helena starts in on shaping one of the pieces she hasn’t worked on yet, “I’m good.”

Even without looking up, she’s conscious of Dinah moving closer, can feel her eyes watching her carefully, smell the tang of her perfume, mixed with the not unpleasant scent of sweat. Still, she isn’t expecting one of the Canary’s long fingers to suddenly be touching her face. It’s a near miracle she doesn’t flinch, or act on instinct and break Dinah’s hand.

“Got a lil grease on your face there, H,” she teases, rubbing at Helena’s cheek, and the contact is so unexpectedly gentle that Helena really doesn’t know how the fuck to react. As quickly as it’s there, it’s gone again, and it feels like the spot is on fire.

“Thanks,” Helena manages, though it comes out sounding half like a grunt. She avoids looking at Dinah, but even as she quickly returns to her work, she can see the smile that’s still lurking on the other woman’s face.

“Hey, you think maybe you could teach me a thing or two about motorbikes some time? I’ve always wanted to ride one. And since it’s unlikely I’m getting my car back any time soon....”

“Sure!” Helena says, a little too quickly if the goofy expression on Dinah’s face is anything to go by. Her cheeks flush, just a little bit, and she hates it. It’s not something she’s accustomed to, though she’s found herself reacting that way a few too many times lately, and always around a certain song-bird, like she’s lost control of her face.

Still, the thought of the two of them riding through the streets together, Dinah’s chest pressed up against Helena’s back, the wind blowing through their hair... well, it’s more than a little pleasant.

“Cool - anyway I should get goin’ but just... don’t stay out here all day, ok?”

Helena nods. She hates being told what to do, and yet there’s something in Dinah’s tone that makes it feel not so bad.

A week later, when she’s done fixing the bike up, she takes Dinah for her first ride. It’s an odd thought: that she could have anything at all to teach somebody, least of all a woman like Dinah. But she finds she rather enjoys it.

II.

They’re standing close enough that she can hear Dinah’s pulse dance in time with hers. She smells warm and fruity, a scent that just makes Helena want to breathe her in. Instead she concentrates, wrapping her fingers around Dinah’s, repositioning them gently, letting go once they’re in place.

“How do I know what I’m aiming at?” Dinah’s voice is like honey, soft and sweet, impossibly close to Helena’s face.

“You just look straight down the shaft. When you’re used to it you can just point and release.”

She’s not good at touching people, but finds that it’s fine in this context, so long as she concentrates on teaching, and not on Dinah. Still, she knows her heart is being faster than usual, can’t stop her senses from drinking in every part of the woman pressed against her, filing all these new discoveries away for later.

“Flick the safety off,” she murmurs, showing Dinah what to do, “and when you release you want to try for a firm squeeze.”

Dinah laughs at that, a soft chuckle that echoes between them, before looping one finger through the trigger, and doing as she’s told.

“Don’t put your face too close, keep the buttstock on your shoulder.”

“The what now?”

“This,” Helena says, nudging the hard end of the crossbow that’s resting a little too close to Dinah’s cheek. She lets her hand linger ever so slightly longer than it needs to, before letting go. Stepping back, letting the Canary go alone, she nods, “Okay, take the shot.”

Dinah pulls the trigger, and the dart flies through the air, hitting the bottom of the target. It’s not a great shot, but it’s pretty good for a beginner, and she manages not to clip herself around the face with the crossbow. But most wonderful of all, is the high pitches squeal she makes when she realises she hasn’t completely missed. It makes Helena feel... giddy, almost. Which isn’t a feeling she’s accustomed to.

Dinah turns, the crossbow safely at her side, and her whole face is beaming. It’s the kind of smile that’s contagious, and Helena can’t help but return it, especially when Dinah flings an arm around her, squeezing her tight.

“Can I go again?”

Barely able to form words, Helena just nods, and watches as Dinah gets straight back into the pose she taught her, shoulders squared, legs angled perfectly, and the crossbow already looking like a part of her that’s always been there.

She’s a quick study, and this time the arrow lands bang straight in the middle of the target.

-

III.

She doesn’t even feel the blade go in, doesn’t see which of the low-life drug dealers they’re taking down even does it.

That’s the part she’s most pissed about. That and the fact they’ve ripped her favourite jacket, and her pants are beyond saving too. She’s supposed to be better than this. The men who raised her trained her to be better.

God they’d be disappointed.

The wound isn’t even that deep, nothing important has been hit. It’s just bleeding a lot. It’ll probably scar, but Helena couldn’t give a shit about that: she’s had worse. She just needs it to stop fucking bleeding.

“H, you alright back— _shit_!”

“It’s nothing,” she tells Dinah through gritted teeth. 

“Who are you tryin’ to fool?” The Canary mutters at her, dropping to her knees and pressing her hand on top of Helena’s, which is already completely covered with blood. “Shit, did they hit an artery?”

Helena shakes her head, “no. It’s not even half an inch deep, just...” she sucks in a breath, “a nick.”

“A nick? Are you hearing your crazy ass right now?”

Before Helena knows what’s happening, Dinah is shedding her jacket, balling the fabric and pressing it against the gushing wound. The fabric is hard, and probably not really absorbent enough, but they don’t have much choice: it’s not like they chose their outfits based on what would stop blood flow. Between them, they’re mostly decked out in leather.

“Just... push down on it until it’s stopped bleeding enough for me to... patch myself up.”

Dinah raises her eyebrows, both hands pressed hard to Helena’s shoulder, as she looks around for Renee. The shorter woman is making her way across to them, gun in hand, kicking at bodies to ensure they’re dead as she approaches.

“You’re not patching anything. Hey, Montoya! Change of plans - we’ve got to get Helena to a hospital.”

“No. No hospital!” Helena says immediately.

Renee’s face screws up at the sight of them, “christ, I leave you two alone for a second,” she says, holstering her weapon, “how bad is it?”

Dinah lifts her hands, pulls always her sodden jacket. The blood flow has definitely slowed down, but the gash itself is large and ugly. There’s no way can they just slap a bandaid on it and move on. It needs stitches.

“Goddamnit. I hate to say it but Bertinelli’s right. We take her to the ER and they’ll get the cops involved. Don’t suppose either of you know a doctor you haven’t pissed off?”

“My social circle does not expand outside you two,” Helena grimaces, trying to get a look at the injury, but her head won’t turn far enough.

Dinah shakes her head.

“I dated an army medic but we didn’t exactly leave it on good terms,” adds Renee, fishing her phone out of her pocket, and handing her over-shirt to Dinah to continue soaking up blood with, “I don’t know if I even still have the number.”

“It’s fine,” Helena says again, “I got it, I just need a mirror and I can—“

“Can what? At some point you have to accept help, Helena.”

The way Dinah’s voice softens on her name makes Helena smile. She’s not all that good at reading facial expressions, but she knows Dinah, can see the concern in her eyes. She wants to tell her she doesn’t need to worry - that Helena has spent years fixing up her own injuries - but she knows Dinah well enough now to realise she won’t back down. And besides, Helena can’t even see the wound clearly, never mind the fact that stitching it up one handed would be near impossible. The others are right: she needs to accept help.

“Do either of you know how to sew?”

“Do I _look_ like a person who sews?” Renee asks, and Helena has to bite back a laugh because no, she does not.

“I... know the basics,” Dinah says, uncertainly, like she knows where this is headed.

“Great. If we can get back to my apartment, do you think you can stitch me up. I’ll talk you through it.”

Dinah stares at her incredulously, whilst Renee shakes her head, swearing under her breath.

“I... don’t think I should.”

“I’m not asking if you should I’m asking if you think you can.”

“Fuck. Okay. Yes. I can do it.”

“Great,” Helena grunts, peeling back the shirt from her shoulder. She can’t get a good look at it, but the cotton shirt isn’t all that wet with blood, so she figures it’s doing okay. “Help me up?”

Dinah pulls her to her feet, and they head slowly out of the warehouse, and towards Renee’s beaten up truck out front, Dinah’s hand wrapped firmly around her arm, and Renee trailing behind. Fortunately, she doesn’t feel too woozy from the blood loss, though she is leaning more weight on the other woman than she’s happy about, concentrating on staying upright. Thank god it wasn’t her leg that was hit.

By the time they’re back at her apartment, the initial shock has worn off, though the pain is searing, and Helena’s finding it more and more difficult to pretend she’s fine. Once she’s positioned on the couch, she tells Renee to grab her some alcohol from the kitchen, and directs Dinah to the suture kit she keeps with her spare arrows. Thank god she’d invested in one: she’s already used it a couple of times, but never on anything as bad as this.

Once everything is laid out, Dinah kneels beside her on the couch, and for a moment neither of them say anything. Dinah’s hands are trembling.

“You sure about this?”

Helena nods, smiling as much as she can, “of course. I trust you.”

Taking a deep breath, Dinah nods, “okay. Where do I start?”

-

IV.

“Where is the... damnit... the _apribottiglie_?!”

Dinah’s laugh is quickly becoming Helena’s favourite sound in the world, melodic and warm and throaty, but damn if she doesn’t hate it when it’s in response to her being stupid. Maybe partly because her response to it is to get even more flustered.

“You wanna try that again in English, H?” she calls from her position on the couch, and even though Helena can’t see her face, she can guess her expression.

“I can’t remember the word,” she mutters, continuing to rummage through the drawer in the apartment they now share. It was easy to find things when she lived alone; she kept so few belongings, she knew where every single thing was, especially in the kitchen. Dinah had moved in and brought all these extra _things_ with her.

She’s practically thrown half the contents of the drawer onto the floor by the time she finally finds what she’s looking for: the bottle opener.

“Hmmm maybe you need’a start teaching me Italian, then,” Dinah says in that low voice that feels like honey, and she’s suddenly in the kitchen, eyes watching Helena as she takes the tops off too beer bottles.

That voice, combined with their closeness, the way she can feel Dinah’s body heat... it does things to her that she still hasn’t found a word for. In any language.

“Sicilian,” she corrects, handing Dinah a beer, “I could tell you a couple of phrases, but I’m not much of a teacher.”

Dinah rolls her eyes, sits down at the breakfast bar whilst Helena continues to move around the kitchen, clearing up after herself. She can feel the Canary’s eyes on her the whole time.

“Say something in Sicilian, then.”

Now that the kitchen sides are clean, Helena returns to the bar, leaning against the side opposite to where Dinah’s sitting.

“Like what?”

Dinah’s mouth is curved to one side, dimples popping, and a sly twinkle in her eye that Helena has come to both love and loathe. It’s mostly there when she’s teasing. Whilst she’s a lot more comfortable around Dinah and Renee than she is just about anyone else, she still hates being teased by then, can never quite get the hang of sarcasm or differences in intonation. She’s learning, though.

“Whatever you want,” Dinah says, lifting her beer to her lips.

“ _Nun lu sacciu_.”

Her eyes crinkle at the corners, and her whole face seems to light up, which in turn makes Helena blush, forcing her to look away. “That’s beautiful. What does it mean?”

“I don’t know,”

That gets another of Dinah’s beautiful laughs, and Helena risks looking up a little, offering the hint of an embarrassed smile.

“You don’t know?”

“No, it means ‘I don’t know’.”

That earns her a punch on the arm and yet more laughter. God, she really is beautiful when she laughs. Well, when she does anything, actually. Helena has tried not to notice, feels guilty for thinking it, but...

“Say something else?” Dinah asks, and the way her hair is draped over one shoulder, the light glinting off the gold rings and beads strung through those braids.... her eyes, full of warmth and light... Helena suddenly can’t swallow, can’t drag her eyes away.

“ _Potrei guardarti tutto il giorno,_ ” she says, in an uncharacteristically low voice. It’s a relief that it doesn’t come out in the awkward cadence that used to be her only way of speaking, though she feels like her heart is pounding so hard it might run straight out of her chest. 

Dinah stares at her a moment, letting out a breathy, “wow.” She shakes her head. “I have no fucking clue what you just said to me but that was _hot_.”

Helena’s just glad she doesn’t ask what it means.

_I could look at you all day._


End file.
